


Maybe...

by deanisbiandsoami



Series: Why? JUst why did I come up with this? [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Child Abuse, Dark, Destiel's only starting, Hurt, Hurt Dean Winchester, John beats Dean, M/M, Pining, Suicidal Dean, also everyone's being a dick towards Dean, and he's to stupid to see that Cas is actually not a dick, as in has a gun under his mattress, fucking sad, that's what this is, very dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 05:11:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1292608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanisbiandsoami/pseuds/deanisbiandsoami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester was a happy kid... that was until he was four, his mother died and his father didn't handle it at all... things went pretty much downhill since then...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe...

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry. I just, I had to think about this and I couldn't get it out of my head. UGH.

There was something serene in the loaded silver gun in Dean's hands. Maybe it was simply the beauty of it, the way it reflected to light of the lamp above him, the ornaments on the shiny metal. Maybe it was that he could use any moment, use it to end this madness that was his life… or what was left of it. 

Dean loved to stroke over the silver metal, watching the lines his fingers created, his fingerprints that would prove it was suicide and not murder. He rarely lifted the gun but today was one of those days. He felt the cool metal against his temple, moving his forefinger over the trigger. He moved his thumb to unsecure the gun. 

 

His phone rang. It wasn't his normal ringtone but Muse's 'Undisclosed Desires' he sighed, securing the gun again and placing it on his bed next to his thigh, picking up his phone.

"Cas?" He asked. Castiel. He was the only maybe in his life, the only one that maybe was worth living for… problem was that Castiel just didn't need him. He was intelligent, funny and ambitious. He had a bright future, it was all within his reach ivy league college, well-paid job, wife, family, happiness. Dean was stuck. Here in little town with his alcoholic father, his mother was dead, his brother had left them, he had no one that really cared about him. He was Cas's cherry on top of his CV the poor kid he was helping to get through high school so he had a better chance to get into Harvard.

"Hey, Dean… how are you doing?" He asked. All their conversations started like that.

"Could be better." That's how they continued and Dean oh so desperately whished it could be better.

"Could be worse, right." Cas laughed. Dean closed his eyes. Why did he even bother? He looked at the gun next to him. For a moment he just wanted to shoot with Cas on the line just to show him that, no, it could not be worse.

"Yeah. Why did'ya call?" He asked instead.

"I was wondering if you wanted to come to Anna's party tonight. She allowed me to bring anyone." Cas said and Dean could see his charming smile, the way his dark locks moved and fell in front of his eyes when he talked because Cas talked with his whole body, his head moving with the words, hands gesturing. Dean could bet he was running through his hair, making it even more of a mess. Dean smiled at the mental image.

"Why not." He replied. Maybe he could do this for Cas… maybe he could manage high school and leave at least one good thing behind in this world and if it was just a plus point, half a sentence in Cas's CV.

"Great, I'll pick you up at eight!" Cas chimed. Dean didn't understand how people could be so happy all the time. 

"Okay." He said and then Cas was out of the line. Dean put the gun back under his mattress, although there was no need to hide it. His father hadn't been in his room since Sam left. Dean went down the stairs into the small living room. His father was still conscious for a change.

"Erm, Dad I'm going to a party tonight…" He said slowly. His father laughed, his laughter fading into a coughing fit after a few seconds.

"Yeah, right." He mocked when the coughing had stopped. There'd been a time when he'd still had spirit to fight, back in the days when he still had to defend Sam from his father's fists, but now Dean just nodded and went back into his room trying not to commit suicide until eight pm. His father would be passed out on the couch by then anyway. 

 

Dean didn't drink... the whole father being an alcoholic, coughing blood, being aggressive and suffering memory loss thing kinda ruined that for him. He was often asked why and he'd always answer because he didn't like the taste. That was another reason why he had no friends - next to not wanting someone who pretended to care about him although he didn't even see how far Dean's problems were beyond bad grades… Cas was enough. He spent pretty much the whole party on the couch, Castiel now and then dropping by and asking how the party was going, getting tipsier with every time Dean saw him. Dean hated to see him like that… he drank too much for his taste but then again one glass was too much for Dean's taste, and why did he even care about some perfect boy? Maybe it was how Cas seemed to lighten every mood, maybe it was just his ocean blue eyes.

 

Dean drove Cas home and then walked to his house, dropping onto his bed when he got there. He didn't fall asleep until 2am, thinking about Castiel, about how he'd clung to him on the drive home and as Dean had led him into his house, about how Cas had called him a gift sent from the heavens. Tomorrow he'd brush it off a drunk talk or he wouldn't remember it at all, but Dean couldn't help but feel warm, his skin still tingling where Cas had touched him. 'Fuck' he thought 'So I'm in love then…'

 

To his surprise school went a little smoother when Dean listened to teachers and to the things Castiel explained him. He actual felt little flutters of content when Castiel smiled at him because he solved a problem or raised his arm in class.

 

Of course these little flutters were crushed when he came home and his father jelled at him for being 'a useless stinking fag' and that he should 'hurry up and move his fucking ass into the kitchen' Dean stopped listening to his rants after that and started cooking for the two of them.

 

On Wednesday, he sat on his bed again, holding the gun. Today he'd felt nothing like content in school. Their teacher had given back the test from last week. Dean was used to failing but this time he didn't even have half the points he needed to pass and maybe Cas had wanted to cheer him up and motivate him but maybe he was just genuinely disappointed. 

Dean groaned, falling back onto his bed, the gun landing next to him. He really wanted to make an effort… he wanted to make Castiel proud… but if he didn't even manage to become a footnote in a CV what the fuck was he even here for? 

He was just sitting up and reaching for the silver handgun once again when he heard the doorbell. His eyes widened there really was only one possibility who that could be and Cas couldn't see his father. Dean hurried to put the gun under his mattress and ran downstairs. He sighed in relief when he saw his father passed out on the couch. He opened the door, seeing Cas stand there, looking as beautiful as ever in his jeans and button down. Cas caught his eye and smiled.

"Hello, Dean." He said. Dean straightened a bit the door still only half open.

"Hey, Cas…" He said slowly.

"I thought maybe you wanted me to discuss the test with you and you know… help you understand what you did wrong." Cas explained and Dean bit his lip. He threw a glance over to his father and then nodded, trying to find an excuse.

"'course." He said, opening the door and then closing it behind Cas. "Just… can you be quiet my father's sleeping, he… er had a rough day at work." Dean lied. Cas nodded and Dean quickly lead him up the stairs hoping that he didn't see the whiskey bottles in the living room. Dean just hadn't had the heart to clean when he came home from school.

"I feel stupid for not knowing this but what does your father do?" Cas asked. Dean closed the door to his room.

"He's a mechanic." Dean said. Cas nodded.

"So… maths!" Castiel said. Dean nodded and pulled the test and his notepad out of his bag. He really tried to understand what Cas was saying but his deep voice was distracting him… also the fluid motions of his long slender fingers and his smile… his overall appearance and the warmth seeping from him where he was so close to Dean. And god he smelled good, like old paper, ink and peppermint.

 

He spent the rest of the day just lying on his bed with his nose buried in the part of the mattress that still smelled like Castiel. He knows he's fucked he just can't stop imagining to wake up cuddled up with Cas, smelling his hair, feeling his warmth, looking into his eyes. And as he dreams he feels the sparks again, in his gut little sparks of happiness flying around. 

And then he opens his eyes and he's back in the room that only has a faint hint of Castiel, the room that he's spent most of his life in, the room in which he's cried countless hours, in which he's stitched up wounds his father gave him, in which there's a loaded gun under the mattress and there's no way a boy like Castiel would ever fall in love with someone that belonged into this room.

 

Dean fails the next test in maths too… which means that he's not gonna get his degree this year. Because there's no way he's acing any other class. So what's the point in going?

Worst is his father doesn't even notice that he's always home now and when he does he beats Dean. Three days ago he beat him so hard Dean couldn't even get up and just laid on the carpet in the living room until he passed out. 

He was pretty sure he had at least one broken rib but he didn't have the means to get to a hospital… at least he could walk the next day. He still had a bruised eye and a cut on his cheek… not to mention the bruises all over his body and possibly a sprained ankle. The only reason he was alive was that bending towards the edge of his bed was too painful and he was too weak to lift the mattress… 

Okay maybe he was also hoping that Cas would knock on his door because maybe, just maybe, he cared after all. Maybe Cas didn't just want to help him for the sake of his CV and for his reputation as the perfect boy, maybe he cared about Dean. 

This hope slowly died and after two weeks Dean had no energy left. He didn't stand up, he didn't eat, he didn't drink and he didn't even dream of a better life anymore. His father came into his room again… but only just to yell at him and tell him to make food, or to clean the house, he pulled him out of his bed and proceeded to kick him when he was lying on the floor. 

 

So Dean didn't get up when he heard the doorbell. He didn't answer his father's slurred yells. He simply tried to get himself to move far enough to lift the corner of the mattress and finally end this shit. 

He didn't expect his father to come into his room and pull him out of the bed, not tossing him onto the floor for a change, but pull him out of the room and down the stairs, hissing "When I tell you to open the door, you open the motherfucking door, you useless fag." He threw him into the wall next to the door. Dean slid down the door, his head resting against the wood. He felt the vibrations of the knock.

"Dean!" He heard, noticing that it was Cas's voice but he couldn't bring himself to care. "DEAN!" Cas shouted outside, banging against the door.

"Open the door, Dean!" Dean tried to block him out. He would only tell him how disappointed he was, how he didn't spend countless hours helping him, teaching him just so Dean could give up.

"Damn it, Fag, get the fucking door or I'll swear I'll beat you to death." His father shouted and Dean was sure Cas must've heard it but he still couldn't bring himself to care. He honestly preferred dying to anything right now… maybe not to doing nothing. 

"Dean! Come on!" Cas called outside, banging against the door again. He was really annoying Dean.

"Go away…" Dean whispered. It was only a whisper because Dean hadn't talked for almost two weeks and also his lungs hurt.

"DEAN, I'm going to keep knocking until you open the damn door." Castiel said. Dean sighed, pushing himself up. He opened the door a crack, fully aware that his lips was split, he had a black eye and a cut on his forehead. That as well as bruises that were showing because his arms weren't covered.

"Dean…" Cas gasped, pushing the door open wider. "What happened." Dean looked away. It hurt to look into those blue eyes that were full of worry.

"I fell down the stairs." He lied. Well technically he did fall down the stairs at some point, though he was more thrown then falling.

"I'm not stupid." Cas replied.

"Then why do you ask." Dean snapped. He was close to slamming the door shut again.

"I'm sorry." Castiel said, looking like a kicked puppy.

"Why are you here?" Dean asked. 

"I was worried because you're not coming to school… and I, I wanted to tell you that I didn't give up on you… I still think that you can get your degree, Dean." Cas explained and Dean laughed flatly at that.

"No way in hell am I gonna pass my classes, Cas, you know I don't have a clue about anything." Dean said.

"Don't talk like that Dean! I know you're smart and-" Cas tried again.

"Stop it, Cas, just stop it." Dean cut him off "Why do you even bother?"

"Because I care about you." Cas said. Dean laughed again.

"How could you possibly care, Cas? You don't know me, you simply care about looking good, about your reputation, that's why you put up with me. I'm a lost case, Cas, there's no hope and you can't begin to understand. I'm not just having trouble with school ass you might see in my face. How could you say you care when you didn't even notice that my problems don't end with failing classes, huh?" Dean ranted. Cas looked even more like a kicked puppy now and Dean really couldn't believe he had to guts to stand there looking all hurt when he was the one pretending. 

"Dean… I- I'm sorry… I don't-" Cas stammered. "I didn't know you… can you please explain it… I want to understand you. I- I don't just care about reputation… I want you to have a chance to have a future and that you have a chance to decide what you're future's going to be like. I care about you, Dean." 

"You wanna understand me?" Dean asked. Cas nodded. Dean grabbed his arm and pulled him through the house, past the empty and full bottles of whiskey no one put away for more than two weeks. He pulls Cas in his room slamming the door, there's dried blood on the floor and on the sheets.

"This didn't start two weeks ago, when I dropped out of school. This started when I was five a year after my mother's death. I was in the ER and ICU more often than I can count because I took a blow too much to the head or I jumped in front of a bottle for my brother. I learnt how to stitch up wounds when I was eight, when my father was too far gone to realize that I or Sam needed a doctor. There hasn't been a day in the past five years that I didn't think at least once that I wanted to die. There hasn't been a day in the last two years that I wanted to live. I fought to pass classes not because I want a good future. I do not want a future. I do not want to live. I fought for my grades because you were so disappointed. For months you've been the only thing I lived for. Past tense, Cas. The last four years I haven't missed a day of school and you need two weeks to realize that something might be wrong? How should I believe the you care about more than your reputation? I love you, Castiel, do you have any idea how much you hurt me by taking that last hope that you actually cared for me away? You hurt me more than I could ever think… so much I couldn't even move." Dean stepped past Cas to the end of his bed, lifting the mattress and taking the gun. "You hurt me so much I didn't even have the energy to use this." He said. Cas stared at the gun, tears in his eyes.

"Fuck, Dean, I'm so sorry." Cas said. "I'm so sorry, I didn't notice… I'm- oh god…" They stared at each other. Dean panting, feeling hot tears run over his face. Then Cas moved, closer to him, wrapping his hand gently around Dean's that was holding the gun, moving his finger away from the trigger.

"Let me help you, please." Cas said, taking the silver gun from Dean's hand and throwing it on the bed. "Let me please fix this."

"this isn't something you can fix, Cas." Dean said. "This isn't like a difficult math problem you can solve." 

"I can try." Cas interrupted. "Please let me try." Cas's blue eyes were big and pleading. They looked honest and almost desperate. He was still holding Dean's hand in his. Castiel's other hand came up to cup Dean's face.

"I love you too, Dean. That is a part of your live I can fix. I love you. I care. Please, let me help." Dean's knees buckled and his whole body slumped as if all his energy had left him. Cas caught him, cradling him against his chest.

"How, Cas?" Dena asked carefully. Cas pressed him closer.

"We'll find your brother… we'll find him and then we're gonna try to help your father… we'll find you something you love doing, and I'm gonna stay with you. I'm gonna be right there where I can hold you tight and keep you from using that gun." Castiel promised.

"What if Sammy doesn't want to meet me…" Dean asked. He sounded like a little child. Castiel kissed his hair.

"I'll make him talk to you… you're gonna see your brother again but first of all you're gonna come with me so your father can't hurt you anymore." Cas said. Dean nodded.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading though... I'm sorry


End file.
